


careful of my heart : a story told in three acts

by Sonny



Series: A Story Told In Three Acts [1]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-14
Updated: 2009-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:25:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonny/pseuds/Sonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael lets go as he leaves Portland to return home to The Pitts...</p>
            </blockquote>





	careful of my heart : a story told in three acts

  
  
**Mid-morning... middle of the week...**   
  


 

"Are you sure you don't want me to come out there? Fly back with you when you're ready?" 

"Oh, I'm sure. Everything is done. My things are already on their way back home. The only stuff left are--two bags and, well... me." The soft chuckle belied the sorrow, mostly masking the pure pain. 

"Jus' give me the word, I'll be on the first 'red eye' outta here." 

"No." The head shook as if the person on the other end could see him. "Thanks, but that would cause me to have to delay my arrangements and flight." 

"Oh, yeah..." There was some loss and defeat in the tone. "Early mornin', huh?" 

"Almost. I'll get in about the time the clubs open for business." 

"You'll be headin' right to Babylon from the airport?" 

"Nah--well, yeah, but not quite. I'll drop my stuff off at the apartment, if Em hasn't changed the locks on me. I'll take a quick shower-- _if I stink_ \--then, yes, I'll be going out." 

"Mmm... yeah, yeah... it's _different_ , kid." 

"I know. I'm expecting that. I know once they see me they'll want some answers." 

"You gonna tell 'em?" 

"Uh, sure." 

"You gonna tell 'em the _truth_?" 

"I dunno. The truth is a little too embarrassing." 

"What? That an asshole you thought you would be with for the rest of your life was still an asshole thousands of miles away? On _his_ turf? On _his_ terms?" 

"Vic-- _please_." 

"Sorry, I only call 'em like I see 'em. _Pittsburgh_ was never the problem. _Brian_ wasn't even the problem--shockingly." 

"I know... _IknowIknowIknow_..." 

"Okay, I don't wanna make this too long or your mother'll get suspicious." 

"Alright. Thank you, Vic. You, uh... you don't really know how much this all means to me." 

"Hey... little do you what I'm willing to do, on my end, to get you back home." 

"Home?... whoa, that--sounds really nice. I nearly forgot what _that_ was like." 

"--an' now we'll make sure you won't ever forget." 

"No. Nope. I never, ever will." 

"Love you, son." 

"Love you too. _Always_." 

Michael hung up, taking a long hard look at what was left to do on his way out. At first glance, strange to think not much would change. Moments would seem normal, unhindered, and then suddenly a feeling would wash over to arrive at the conclusion that _something_ was missing. Maybe-- _hopefully_ \--some _one_. 

Though he had come to Portland with a ton of personal items, most hadn't been out in the open to give away the illusion that more than two people occupied this house. 

For Michael? There wasn't even a simple band of precious metal on his finger, symbolizing an unbreakable union or one that was on its way to being shattered. There had been a _promise_ of one, but as with most things in life--it had been made to be broken. 

As he stepped to the double front doors, making certain that the left panel was locked, he turned the knob to feel the unencumbered give. Once he closed the right panel shut, the lock would be set for both.  For one last time, Michael turned, gazing behind him as his eyes fell dead center of the large foyer's expensive Italian marble flooring. A simple dark-cherry Chippendale table with an overpowering floral arrangement was visible. The keys he had slid off the ring, to hand back to David, were laying as plain as could be for anyone to see. If he was quiet enough, Michael could faintly hear the house cleaning crew singing along with their radio, blasting native Latin American music. It echoed throughout the emptiness of the opulent home. Funny how a few weeks ago that very noise would've carried him through making his breakfast, then afterward a brisk morning swim with a follow-up soak in the indoor Jacuzzi. 

Now, it was like a sad fanfare to his final exit. A bittersweet sendoff, as well. 

Backpack swung over his shoulder, rolling suitcase in his other hand, Michael walked off the massive plantation porch, down the steps and across the well-manicured front lawn. A few curious heads from the landscaping crew glanced up to watch his dissent down the circular driveway, head held high and chin raised proudly. The steps were quick, yet determined, as if there was somewhere else to be--happiness and euphoria to be leaving disguising a breaking heart. 

The day Michael C. Novotny left Dr. David K. Cameron's property was fairly uneventful. Which had been exactly what was wanted. David had requested that Michael not cause a scene, preferably. 

Fine. Whatever. But Michael had made his own last request and he was on his way to fulfilling it, without interference from David.  


  
**~~ &&~~&&~~&&~~&&~~**   


Sharon Huntington leaned against the door molding, arms crossed in a certain defiance. 

"Honey, please--come out before I have to call your father." 

Sometimes that "threat" worked. Well, it hadn't for a few years now. Didn't hurt to try. 

" ** _He_** 's not my father!" 

"I meant your _Dad_." 

The boy furrowed his brow, utterly confused. "Why?" He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the blue-painted ceiling. "He's not even here to care." 

"Sweetie..." Sharon lowered her tone, motherly vibes pouring forth. "... what else can I do, if you won't come out?" 

"... _lame_..." The boy mumbled as he shook his head, eyes closing. He rolled to the other side to sit on the edge of his mattress. The pain in his stomach, coupled with the ache in his chest, was making this situation unbearable. _She_ would never understand, too wrapped up in her own anger and heartaches to care. He had been this way since he had woken up. For once, why couldn't anything in his life ever go the way _he_ wanted? Grownups were idiotic-- _and stupid_. Like third-graders on the playground. He cleared his throat, looking over his shoulder toward the doorway he knew his mother was leaning on, probably brushing her fingertips over the wooden paneling. "I'm okay, Mom. Just fine. I jus'--" He swallowed hard on a slight squeak to his voice. "... _jus' leave me alone!_ " 

Now Sharon resorted to hands on her hips, backing away from the door. "Look... you can't be sick from school _all_ week. You need to go, at least, _one_ day." 

There was silence. _Nothing_. _No sound_. Not even the soft sniffles from before. 

Sharon shuffled closer, placing a hand flat to the door paneling, wondering at what point she had lost full control of her own child. Had there ever been a moment of reprieve where she could've gained back that innocent trust, and some respect, she must've lost along the way? 

The doorbell rang loudly. Sharon wasn't moving from her perch, thinking someone else in the house would answer. Upon the second ring, she realized that that "someone" may be out of reach, unable to hear what was going on upstairs. She couldn't leave without letting her son know she wasn't finished with him. 

"I'll be back, sweetie. We still need to talk. _Face-to-face_." 

The boy slowly pushed off the bed, muttering " _don't bother_ " as he wandered over to the windows in his room overlooking the front yard. There was no distinctive car visible, nor could he see much of anything since the roof of the porch hid everything except ankles and shoes. Probably one of his knuckle-headed friends from the neighborhood, checking up on him--the timing was off, because most of them would be in school at this hour. 

Sharon had been too distracted from her confrontation with her son, so she forgot her usual routine of peeking through the peephole--in case of unexpected visits from annoying ex-husbands. She yanked open the door, immediately stunned into quiet, then slightly confused by the mystery caller. "Michael?!" It was clear as day this was who stood before her, but the surprise in her voice was present, at least. 

"--'mornin', Sharon. I hope I'm not disturbing _something_." 

"Oh, no--no. I, uh--" Sharon furrowed her brow, dropping her gaze to see an upright set back on the porch floor and a backpack draped over one shoulder. She let out a weak smile. "No, uh... it's no trouble. Really. Is there something--?" 

Michael swung the strap off his shoulder and down his arm to clutch the pack's strap in his hand. "Hank left _this_ at the house. His father meant to bring it over, but--" Time for excuses to stop coming from Michael's mouth. David had told him he could fix his own problems, make his own reasons for failing to follow through on promises made. "I figured there might be something he'd need, or want, inside." 

Sharon squinted her eyes to see the backpack clearer. It was obviously one of the many she had purchased for Hank that he would tend to use when he had to go between houses--no longer purposeful for school. "Oh, uhm... geez... I keep tellin' him, you know..." She precariously opened the screen door, grabbing for the backpack, unsure whether she should let Michael in. Or even make him aware Hank was home. She stuttered out a forced laugh to hide her intolerance. "Kids today don't think of the value or the cost of material things. They forget them somewhere or loan them to friends who won't return them." 

Michael could tell he wasn't going to be allowed entrance. He probably wouldn't even be able to tell Hank's mother that there was something from him to Hank with a note attached. "Yeah..." He chuckled warily, unsure of what Sharon's problem was with him. "I know what you mean." 

It would've been a simple hand-off; Michael would leave and Sharon could close the door, like she wanted. But a curious listener had come out of hiding to appease his own frantic mind. 

From up on the above landing could be heard, sharply, " **MICHAEL!** " 

Michael wasn't able to see too well into the interior of the home, especially not high enough on the staircase. All he heard was his name called, then Hank was barreling down the steps to shove past his mother to get to him, holding on as tight as he possibly could. For a moment, Michael's arms instantly embraced in return, hands cupped the back of the dark brown spikey hair as he lay a cheek flat, pressing tender kisses to the strands.  

When Michael unfolded himself from around Hank, he raised watery eyes to Sharon, silently asking her " _why?_ " and " _how could you be so cruel to your own son?_ ". He had done absolutely nothing to deserve this haphazard animosity, except love the man who no longer loved her. Michael understand partially; she had no true outward prejudices with homosexuality, only an inner frustration with half the life of her loving first marriage being a complete sham. 

Sharon had to admit to herself she should've reacted differently, but years of struggling as a single mother tended to make her do irrational things as a simple precaution to her own heart. Things even she couldn't explain. A hand to her mouth, Sharon moved backward to allow Michael room to walk in, but it was too late. The minute had passed from being able to be cordial and invite him inside.  

Michael had been shown his "place" and would oblige accordingly. He shook his head, a small grin forming on his face. "No thanks." He pulled Hank away by the small shoulder joints, cupping the shaking chin. He discreetly swiped at the moist cheeks, but the sniffling was loud and clear. "Is it okay if I have a few minutes alone to talk with Hank?" 

Odd how in those few words Sharon could sense there was a limit to Michael's time. Had she ever truly given him a fair shake without including him in her hate for David? Michael hadn't complained once. Never fought back with her when she got in one of her moody fits. Michael hadn't really interfered in raising Hank, but Sharon still sought ways to find fault with everything Michael had done or said. "Uhm, yeah... uh, would you like to come in? Have something to drink?" She would try _one_ last time. 

Michael shook his head to decline, smiling as he dropped his intent gaze to Hanks' bowed head. "Nah--I won't be long--just a few minutes." 

Sharon was unsettled by Michael's voice, like it would crack and break at any second. The gentle softness told of a man born of years of loss and rejection, of knowing exactly what he _couldn't_ have and taking time to make it all right within himself.  

How did one do _that_? How did one find the courage to keep trudging on when life sent too many curve balls with no warning? How did one pick up the pieces and move on, living day-by-day without any sign of heartache? 

She watched that pale masculine hand tenderly brush through brown locks, instantly feeling her heart lurch in nostalgia. That was a "mother's touch", plain and simple. She had gotten the move from her own mother to pass on down to her children--or child. She let the screen door close, watching Hank walk away to a distant point on the porch as he looked out over the railing. Sharon could tell Hank didn't want to hear what Michael had to say. Michael stepped closer, standing shoulder-to-shoulder as he began to talk in a low, calm tone. The tension in Hanks' body left once he snuck side-long glances toward Michael--a tiny grin building as he heard every single word uttered. 

Her breath caught in her throat as Michael draped an arm about thin shoulders, then Hank turned-- _his own arm about Michael_ \--and then the composure was lost. Hank crumbled weakly into the strong and comforting embrace. 

At _that_ moment, Sharon couldn't have hated David more--well, possibly. _How dare he_. How _dare_ he not know exactly what his own son needed to get by. How _dare_ he let a complete stranger come so close to being the very "father" Hank needed in his young life. How _dare_ he--  


Sharon couldn't recall ever seeing such vulnerability in Hank--not for months. It caused her immense grief to wonder what she and David had been doing doing wrong all this time. 

 _ **"Shut the door, Shar."**_  

The voice spooked Sharon into taking a step back and making it appear as if she had been in the middle of making _that_ very choice. She opened her mouth to make an excuse, but stopped. Instead, she trailed behind on the way to the back rooms--mainly, the kitchen. "Did you know about _this_?" Sharon pointed a thumb over her shoulder toward the front door. She meant about Michael leaving Portland, possibly for good. 

"What?" 

"David and Michael broke up. It's obvious Michael's leaving. David's not here, conveniently out to a conference, miles away from the blow-out. I wouldn't--" 

"Sorry..." The plastic laundry basket slammed onto the table top. "... was I _supposed_ to care?" There was clearly a sign of frustration behind the tone and action. 

"Excuse me?" 

"This isn't _any_ of our business, Sharon." The brow wrinkled in perplexity. "Isn't _this_ what you wanted? What you predicted for them once you knew David was bringing a new 'boyfriend' out here when he moved closer?" 

"Yeah, but... I'd've given it longer. Six months, tops. This is barely even three." 

"As it doesn't pertain to either of us, why should it _matter_?" 

"Because it _matters_ to Hank." 

There was a soft sniffling chuckle. "O'really?! Are you just _now_ noticing that fact?" 

"Jason, look... I know you've been trying to tell me they were getting close an' I chose not to believe you--" 

Jason looked around the kitchen as he folded the clean dish towels. "I wonder if you really listen to me at all." 

Sharon snorted, choking a bit as she sputtered out " ** _Wha--?! What does that mean?!_** " 

Jason placed each hand, knuckles down, on the table's edge as he stared over at Sharon. "Why exactly am I here, Shar? A cheap form of babysitting... a 'punching bag' when you've had enough of the Ex-es... or am I just gosh-darn lucky enough to be the last man standing, third choice out of three?" 

Sharon's eyes widened with fright. She couldn't fail at this relationship too. Things were extremely complicated at this point. "I love you." She thought that was obvious. "We love each other." She hoped that was true, from his end of things. "We've slowly been building our life together." Albeit, taking a small detour with the unplanned pregnancy, but things were okay. 

"Are we? Are we truthfully?" Jason went back to folding towels with some laced tension. "Or am I only temporary 'til Cameron's single again an' you can overtake his life? Act like his 'wife', like you two never split?"  

Sharon was a little shocked by that admission. She hadn't really thought about what she appeared to look like when she constantly interfered in David's life and privacy. "Where's _this_ coming from?" 

"I don't know, Sharon. Maybe I can kinda understand why your son acts out the way he does." 

Sharon was outraged at the audacity to even think of calling her out on not being a good mother. "I love my son." 

"Not saying you don't. What I am saying is--Hank is a big boy. He'll turn thirteen this year an' you're slowly running out of schools to send him to. Next year will be the start of something larger than both of you realize. Something more risky than you've had to handle, so far." Jason had been trying to warn both mother and son, but what did **_he_** know? Apparently he was simply there for the "appearance" of a home life, not actually doing much of anything. 

Sharon crossed her arms, leaning back on the wall. "What do you suggest _**I**_ do?" After today, she had to admit she would be spinning out of control if she didn't come to grips with some things. 

It hurt. Immensely. Jason would've liked to have heard " _what do you suggest **we** do_ ", but that was asking for a lot with just finding out Hank's reason for this inexplicable sadness and being "sick" from school so much. "You need to allow Hank to have the relationships he's gonna have, without your help or hindrance." Sharon's last relationship was proof of _that_ fact. "Let him have an uncomfortable, disconnected bond with Cameron, but let him see Gary as often as he can." Jason always thought Gary got a raw deal, deserving to be in Hank's life since he didn't live too far away. "At least let Hank have one or two friends he can share personal things with that he can't with you or one day, eventually--" He had to stop or else he would go off on a tangent--too much information at once. 

"Anything _else_?" 

"Don't get snippy with me. We've talked about these things before." 

"No." Sharon shook her head. "I'm sorry." She was assuming Jason wanted to make things between them more permanent, like marriage. "I can't keep jumping out of one bad marriage only to step into another one." 

Jason wasn't sure he liked hearing that Sharon had any idea a commitment between them would go "bad". "I'm not talkin' 'bout marriage, Shar, but I wouldn't mind if you trusted me enough with Hank. Like you do with our daughter." 

"Jay, I'm not..." Sharon moved to hang off the back of a chair at the table. "--it's not that I don't--" She pulled out the chair, plopping down in weariness and exasperation. "--it's just different with a boy like Hank." 

Jason smirked, feeling as if he had to do something to break the tension in the room. "Hey... I wasn't too far from being like Hank all those years ago." The years weren't that far away that he could have forgotten. "He's normal to me, given his circumstances. He's had to go through too much for a child his age. Cameron is barely ever here anymore. Gary's--" Jason's hand fluttered in mid-air, thinking how Gary wasn't really at fault. "--well, he's moved on with his own life because you haven't cut him enough slack." He didn't even feel like mentioning how much Gary had moved on, re-marrying and having kids of his own. "I could see a 'spark' of something with Michael I knew had always been there. No matter how often you tried to tell me different. Always certain that Hank was unreachable at this point." 

"I _can't_ risk it." 

"Risk _what_?" 

"Watching my son continually getting his own heart broken. Mine's bad enough." 

Jason sighed heavily, taking a seat across from Sharon. "You can't be there for him _all the time_. One day you'll have to let his hand go, Shar. It'll be here sooner than you're prepared for." 

The front door opened, then shut, barely closing at all. The fast clumps of feet up the stairs told of Hank's pursuit of his second floor bedroom. The slam of another door sounded, finalizing the last few seconds of Michael's presence. 

Jason kept his head bowed as Sharon buried her face in both hands. He could feel empathetic emotions nearly overwhelm him. He silently reached over the table surface to grip the wrists, pulling the arms away from Sharon's face. "Do you _trust_ me?" One lone eyebrow raised in curiosity. 

Sharon opened one eye at a time, nodding her head as she grappled for Jason's sturdy hands. She wouldn't chase after Hank _this_ time. She kissed one of those hands, letting Jason stand up to go in her stead. Once he was no longer in the room, Sharon got up to make her way into the living room where there was a special "place"-- _more like a "shrine"_ \--for the different stages of Hank's life. She attempted to pull down one of the framed pictures as she slowly walked out the front door. She had made it in time as Michael was throwing his suitcase into the back trunk of the taxi. " ** _Michael! Wait! Please--!_** " She jolted to a sudden stop at the end of the sidewalk, standing at the hip-high door of the locked fence. 

Michael flicked his head to the bewildered cabbie. "Ten minutes. I'll pay for the extra time." 

The driver found the offer reasonable as he climbed in behind the wheel. 

"It's my fault, Michael." Sharon licked her lips nervously. "--let me..." She was gesturing toward the house, where her purse/wallet lay. 

"Don't." Michael put out a palm for her to quit. "I'm not destitute. I was going to give him a huge tip anyway." 

Sharon found the smirk on one side of the mouth distressing. She sent the framed photograph over to Michael. "Here. I want you to have _this_." What more could she say or give to him? 

Michael stared down at the object, a tiny chuckle in his throat at recognizing the picture. David had one just like it on his mantle, or a random cabinet for pictures. "Why?" His brow was furrowed in confusion. 

" _Why not_?" Sharon was a bit let down at the half-refusal. 

"I don't need your pity, Sharon." 

Sharon took back the picture, hugging it to her chest with the image facing outward. "It's not 'pity'. I'll feel..." Oh, what was the right word? "--better knowing--" She could detect the slight shake to Michael's head with that interesting smirk. "Have I said something funny?" 

"No... well, yeah... maybe." Michael cleared his throat, tucking his hands inside his jean pockets. "Please don't worry about me. I'll be fine." He always was and always would be. 

"I know." Sharon didn't know how she knew, but she did. Now she felt embarrassed for making the offer. It felt awkward. 

"No..." Michael's face became a little more serious. "... I don't think you do, or ever did know." He turned determined brown eyes on her. "I was never your enemy, Sharon." 

Sharon couldn't look him in the eyes. She stared down at the sidewalk, a slight crack in the cement. "I know." Her voice was small and whispery. 

"--an' I don't _hate_ you." 

That comment caused Sharon to raise her head. _What?_ " _Why not_?" 

They both let out a quick laugh at how instant and caustically the question was asked as if Sharon had expected to be viciously hated. 

"I've had years to learn how _not_ to hate. Hating myself, hating others in the world outside my home--sometimes hating my own family. Every day being hated for my lot in life. It gets exhausting." Michael let out an encouraging smile to reiterate how much he _wasn't_ in a vengeful mood. Had never felt that way toward Sharon. She came at him from a place of aching hurt-- _the same place Brian did_. Michael had years of practice to differentiate true hate from a falseness. 

Sharon choked a bit on some hidden emotions, wishing she could say so much more to Michael for what he had done for Hank. "If it's any consolation, I really never _hated_ you." She was shocked by the simple ease of acceptance, like he already knew her secret. 

"I know." Michael threw back her own words to him. 

"Please..." Sharon would try again for good measure. To show there were no hard feelings. "--take _this_... for my own consolation." To give _this_ away to anyone else not of this family would seem like losing a piece of Hank. But knowing it was going with someone who loved her son just as equally seemed like an extension of a collective heart. 

Michael stared down again as if taking in a last look at the young boy who had come to mean something _very special_ to him. "No." He folded arms over his chest. "I've got everything I need-- _here.._." He placed two fingers to his temple, for memories. "--and _here_." And the last motion was to his heart for affections. 

Sharon was about to crumble as she hugged the picture to herself again. She felt her knees go weak. Poor Jason--he had been right all along. "I'm sorry." It was moot, but needed to be voiced. 

Michael wrinkled his forehead. "For _what_?" 

Sharon shrugged her shoulders, looked away then came back to squint at Michael. "--if I was the catalyst to all _this_ \--with you an' David." 

Michael used one finger to point in the air as he stepped closer. "You should know, yourself, that David is who he is. He won't change simply because the person who loves him asks nicely." He reached out to set his hands on the top portion of the fence door. 

"Was I--at fault?"  

"No." Michael shook his head. "David and I had problems before we arrived here." 

Sharon nodded, sucking in some air. "He's cheated on you too." The signs were clear as day. 

"Numerous times." Michael patted one hand on the shape of the door. "I can't--I won't consciously keep opening myself to heartache and being the only one to forgive." 

Sharon couldn't understand any better, having been through her own adultery with David. Even harder to accept that the constant affairs were with other men. "He cheated on me, too, with other men." She smirked as if trying to find some humor within. 

Michael nodded his head, smiling a bit more as he watched the hand descend onto his own. He covered his other hand on top, squeezing in kind to show a camaraderie, of sorts. "Nothing's changed, if at all. I refuse to play the role of obedient housewife." With one final squeeze, he backed away, leaving Sharon there to grip the door in his place.  

"Wow... David's not really changed much, like I had hoped." 

Michael narrowed his eyes, suddenly serious for a moment. " _ **He**_ 'll be okay." 

"Huh?" Sharon wasn't sure who Michael meant. 

"Hank." Michael smiled reassuringly. "You'll have some rough patches, here-n-there, but give him the space he needs. He'll come back to you. I promise." 

Sharon laughed lightly, wiping at the side of her face. "Why do I want so desperately to believe you?" 

"I was raised by a single mother of my own. It wasn't easy to learn how different I was to other kids. Even from some of my own family who were supposed to love me unconditionally. I've just turned thirty--some days I'm still unsure of who I really am or who I'm supposed to be. But I damn sure know who to turn to or where to go first when I need to find out." 

"David's a fool." Sharon shook her head in sadness. "I think we can _both_ agree on that fact." 

"Yes... yes, he certainly is. Jus' be careful of his heart." Michael choked on that last wording. "--promise me Hank has an infinite number of second chances. Don't think because his father's an ass makes him any less salvageable. He's his own person. Not all of us need a father to raise us every day of our lives. Simply having a good, close friend who will be there to listen--someone close to us to cheer us on when we're down." 

Sharon swallowed with some difficulty, her hand going tight with redness with the grip on the fencing. "Goodbye, Michael." She hoped this wasn't the last she would see of him. Especially for Hank's sake. She had really underestimated his subtle influence. 

"Take care, Sharon."  

No more "goodbyes" for Michael. They were wearing him down. 

Sharon backed away, holding the picture frame to her chest. As she watched the taxi depart, she paced to the house, periodically glancing over her shoulder. 

Once inside, she noticed there were two voices in the distance--one Hank's and the other belonged to Jason. She placed the frame back into its old position, tenderly stroking the young image she eagerly wanted back in her life. Then she strolled out of the living room to head in the direction of the kitchen... 

  
**the end**   



End file.
